


Don't Breathe

by dogbite_propaganda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a kinda happy ending, Asphyxiation, Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Non Consensual Asphyxiation, Non Consensual Punishment, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Toxic Behavior, non sexual choking, use of a choke collar as punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogbite_propaganda/pseuds/dogbite_propaganda
Summary: Jack has the audacity to say “I’m not your fucking bitch.” And Brock wants to prove to him just how wrong he is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in the Dear Romeo prompts post but I got a request for a sequel and I decided it deserved it's own post

It was no secret that Brock Rumlow was one controlling son of a bitch. And no one knew that better than his Second in Command, Jack Rollins. 

The two of them had been together for years. They didn’t like the word  _ ‘boyfriend,’ _ it never felt right. Too juvenile.  _ Partner _ felt too vague and yet  _ lover _ felt too intimate. Whatever they were, they’d given up putting a name on it and had just mutually agreed that they were just together. No more, no less, just together. And the longer they were together, the more Jack noticed that Brock’s whole “Commander” shtick...wasn’t really a “shtick” at all. 

At first, it was just little things. Jack had hardly noticed them at all because it just felt like normal Brock behavior. But then, things got more frequent. Brock would criticize absolutely everything Jack did, no matter what it was or how he did it. Brock would comment about soap residue on the dishes after Jack’d finished doing them. Or he’d comment on the laundry being damp after he dried it. That was how it started. 

Eventually, it became more personal and at times felt malicious. Brock would comment on how he dressed outside of work, on how the soap Jack used when he showered smelled "too strong", and on how Jack “always looked tired” and how unattractive that was. Jack, naturally, just tried to ignore it. Brock was an asshole, he always had been and likely always would be. He poked fun at people’s biggest insecurities and didn’t really understand the concept of hurt feelings. Jack didn’t mind it— at least, that’s what he convinced himself. 

But things seemed to escalate quickly after they moved in together. Brock would go through Jack’s phone at random, which was jarring to say the least. Jack didn’t have anything to hide, of course, but the fact that Brock felt the need to check at all made Jack feel, just… weird. When he tried to talk about it, Brock had somehow turned it around, told Jack that it was how he acted, said that if Jack wasn’t always so aloof and disinterested that he wouldn’t think there was another person involved. Guilt had soon begun to build up, climbing up the walls of his mind like invasive ivy and clouding his judgement. Without even realizing it, Jack tried to change himself to suit Brock’s wishes, something he’d never done for another person. Doing so had him feeling nauseous, like his insides were all sticky. And after a while, Jack decided it would be easier to just let Brock do as he pleased instead of dealing with the physical sickness he was putting himself through. 

Things didn’t stop there, either. One thing Brock did that Jack absolutely couldn’t stand was hover. No matter the time of day or what was going on, Brock was always over his shoulder. Jack tried to tell himself that Brock just wanted to spend time with him, that it was something normal couples did— even though they were the furthest thing from normal— and he put up with it because he didn’t think it would be right to push Brock away. Then it got to be too much and when Jack finally did ask for some time to himself, Brock got angry with him. Berated him and once again rattled his mind with guilt. What was even worse was the arguing. Whether it was about mission logistics or what was for dinner, Brock  _ always _ wanted made it an argument. And Jack always got so exhausted with fighting over it that he would relent just so they could get it over with. And Brock never wanted to hear what he had to say, anymore. When Brock wasn’t interrupting him, he was dismissing everything that came out of Jack’s mouth, at times even blatantly ignoring him. 

Worst of all was the doubt. Every move Jack made,— every calculation, every task, every  _ breath _ — Brock somehow made him feel like it wasn’t going to be good enough. And the feeling was just so  _ foreign _ that Jack hardly knew how to react. He’d always been so confident, so sure of himself, but after so long with Brock, he started questioning what he did. He started feeling dependant, as if he needed to make sure Brock thought what he was doing was a good idea. And he hated it. 

None of these things were things they could talk about, of course, because Brock didn’t see the problem. Or rather, didn’t want to see the problem. Whenever asked, Brock always spouted off about how great their relationship was, how Jack was supposedly everything he wanted; strong, handsome, smart.  _ ‘Compliant.’ _ Would always cross Jack’s mind as well. He’d always nod with Brock, give a half hearted smile and pretend like they were a match made in heaven, even though living with Brock always felt like hell. But he never said anything, he stopped trying to sit down and talk about it, and instead, he just let things build up. And build up. And build up. 

Until eventually, it all came crashing down. 

It was a simple thing, really. Brock wanted to take the heavy duty rifles on their upcoming mission and, naturally, ordered Jack to make sure they were all in working order. It was a routine check, just like they did before every mission. But for whatever reason, the way Brock said it just struck a nerve. 

“Alright, Rollins, get yer ass up and take care’a the rifles.” Brock barked out, his tone harsh. He’d been in a meeting with Pierce all morning and the entire team knew that those meetings always put him in a mood. Usually, Jack tried to be understanding. But apparently today was an unusual day. 

“I’m not your fuckin’ bitch, Brock.” Jack snapped, his voice low as he toyed with the rifle in his hand. Brock stared at him with disbelief for a moment before his lips upturned in an irritated grin. 

“Excuse me?” He asked but Jack didn’t reply. Only pinned him with a look that said  _ ‘you heard me.’ _

Without hesitation, Brock stepped forward and laid the back of his hand across Jack’s cheek with a satisfying  _ smack. _ The hit itself stung but it was nothing debilitating. Probably wouldn’t leave a bruise and yet, Jack was infuriated. Brock had really just back handed him in front of the entire team and he was… well, he was pissed. Pulling his glare back toward his Commander, Jack watched as Brock huffed out a breath before turning on his heel to head out of the room, barking orders for the rest of the team as he went. 

As the day went on, Jack’s anger quelled, and a familiar guilt presented itself. Jack felt like a dog that knew its owner was mad at it and it was eating away at him for the rest of the day. He thought he’d have the chance to apologize when he got home but by the time he did, Brock wasn’t there and after so long of wishing for alone time, all he wanted was to be with Brock. 

He laid on the couch for hours, waiting. He didn’t make dinner or clean up the house or do laundry because he knew Brock hated it when he tried to suck up. Made Brock feel like Jack thought doing a few menial tasks would make his fuck ups okay and Jack understood. Or, he tried to at least. Jack ended up falling asleep on the couch, only waking up to the feeling of a cold chain against his throat. 

Clinking metal echoed between the walls of the living room moments before the  _ thump _ of a body sounded as Jack collided with the hardwood. Blood splattered on the floor in quiet, steady drips while the dim lamp light glinted off of the viscous liquid that had since gathered beneath his nose.

Harsh, sure, but far from the worst way he’d been woken up. 

“Get up,” Brock grumbled and Jack complied, pushing himself up to look his commander in the eyes. In Brock’s hand there was a leather leash, momentarily held slack. Surmising that it was attached to him, Jack felt himself swallow hard. These kinds of punishments were far and few between, things that Brock only did when Jack had really fucked up. They were so rare, in fact, that Jack was always blindsided by them and they always left him with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Brock could be unpredictable when he was angry, out of control, even, and Jack never liked being on the receiving end of it. Just because he’d been through worse didn’t mean he  _ liked _ dealing with Brock in this state. 

Brock pushed Jack aside, sitting in the space on the couch that Jack’d previously been occupying and tugging on the leash. Naturally, Jack complies, scooting forward to accommodate the space. Out of everything he expected, Jack couldn’t say he was ready to feel Brock’s fingers card through his hair in an almost gentle manner. Wariness fell over him faster than relief could ever dream to, however, and it took every ounce of strength in his body not to shy away from the touch. His aversion, he quickly learned, was warranted. 

“Tonight, you’ll be a good bitch, won’t you?” Brock growled in his ear as the hand in Jack’s hair tightened around the base of his skull. Jack knew this tactic, it was something Brock did when he wanted a verbal response, thus why he made it difficult to nod. So Jack indulged him, if for no other reason than to minimize the painful process. 

“Yes sir,” He grunted out, sniffing a bit to test his nose. It wasn’t broken, something he suspected but was thankful for the confirmation. 

What seemed to be a relieved smile fell across Brock’s features and he released his grip on Jack’s hair while murmuring a quiet  _ “good boy.” _ Despite what many might think, Brock didn’t like it when people fought back. Didn’t like how tiring it was to try and force someone to submit, no. He found it much more satisfying when someone knew what he was going to do with them but complied anyway. 

The reprieve was brief, at best, and Jack couldn’t help the startled cry that left him when Brock secured his fist around the base of the leash and  _ pulled. _ Metal teeth dug into his throat as any opportunity to take a breath was stolen away. Jack had to ball his fists into the sleeves of his hoodie to keep himself from reaching up to pull on the chain to get it to ease up. When the chain finally did ease up, Jack was helpless to do anything but wheeze. Being choked was bad enough, but having something sharp obstructing his breathing was worse. It made breathing hard when he finally did have the opportunity to, making it feel like he’d almost rather hold his breath. 

Once again, there was no warning when Brock pulled the leash taught but Jack knew Brock had been waiting for him to exhale to do it. It didn’t just keep to the intimate space that they’d held, either. No, Brock wasn’t that easy. Instead, he chose to get up, to yank on the leash and send Jack tumbling to the floor again. Brock didn’t give him time to think, only began to walk, dragging Jack along by the throat like some kind of stubborn dog. 

Jack’s voice left him in struggled whimpers and whines as he pulled at the pinch collar, trying to use his legs to push up and give him some slack but failing to do so each time. His cries came out cracked and incomprehensible and naturally, Brock laughed at him while he continued his stroll around their home. 

“What’s that? Sorry, I don’t speak dog.” Brock said, his apologetic tone feigned in the most harsh way he could muster. The sound of an opening door alerted him and Jack glanced up through teary eyes to find himself at the top of the basement stairs. Brock wasted no time dragging him down them. Each step was a struggle and when he finally did slip up, Brock was there with a tight grip on the leash, snapping his head back and bringing his body to a screeching halt.

Blackness had just begun to dance around the edges of his vision when they made it to the bottom of the stairs and the leash went slack. In a fit of coughs and wheezes, Jack spat out the blood that pooled in his mouth. On his way down the stairs he must’ve bitten his tongue, which had since began to swell and throb. 

“You’re not good on a leash,” Brock commented, the hint of humor in his voice enticing a coil of rage to rear its ugly head in Jack’s gut. “We’ll have to work on that.” 

For another five or so feet, Brock dragged Jack across the rough basement carpet, the hard concrete beneath it doing nothing to cushion his weight against it. Stopping suddenly, Brock pulled the leash upward, forcing Jack to get to his knees. When Jack tried to get up to his feet, though, he felt a fist across his jaw and he spilled back onto the floor just to be pulled onto his knees again. 

“Bad dog, jumping up like that.” Brock hissed, that cold sneer still prominent on his face. Jack watched helplessly as Brock secured the leash to an exposed beam that spanned across the low ceiling of the basement horizontally. Once secured, Jack found that he had to kneel with his back straight if he wanted to get any sort of breath out and with this discovery, a part of him wanted to cry. But he held strong, the mantra of  _ order through pain _ playing in his mind on repeat like a vhs cassette with damaged tape. 

Once he was secured into his upright position, Jack’s body tensed at the sound of a belt buckle being undone. Sure, Brock had gone pretty far with things, that night being case in point, but never  _ that  _ far. A familiar shame washed over him when Brock simply used the strip of leather to secure his hands behind him before circling back to face him. Wrapping both of his hands around Jack’s jaw, Brock lowered himself enough to capture Jack’s lips. 

Starting off slowly, Jack melted as Brock’s hands wandered, massaging the back of his neck while their tongues danced. For once, there was no fight for dominance, there was no clashing teeth, there was just peace. When Brock pulled back, Jack felt dizzy in a whole new way as he stared adoringly up at his commander. The smile that graced Brock had been completely reconstructed, the malicious glint leaving his eye while fondness took its place. 

“My good boy.” Brock chuckled, giving him another quick kiss before stepping away. He didn’t say anything else as he made his way up the stairs and turned out the lights, and Jack sighed, wondering to himself how he could’ve gotten so lucky to have such a gentle soul. All of the shit he put Brock through and still, Brock made time to make him feel wanted. 

How lucky he was indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr Plug](https://c-aribeau.tumblr.com/)  
Note: These prompts are unbeta-ed, I promise to fix the mistakes I find
> 
> SO I said this when I posted it before but, the first chapter just made me sad to write and I was actually pretty happy to get a request for a sequel because I needed some kind of redemption for this trash pile  
anyways  
have my garbage


	2. Chapter 2

Sweat droplets rolled between his shoulders in a way that made his skin crawl as he shifted in his seat. Staring blankly at the paperwork in his hand, Jack began to read the paragraph at the top of the page for the fifth time. 

Of course there was maintenance happening on the building’s AC unit, of course today was the hottest day of the week, and of course Brock felt the need fuck him over in more ways than one by not letting him call off work for that day. When he looked at it from Brock’s standpoint as a commander, Jack understood why. The STRIKE team had an urgent mission come up, they would be leaving for it in three days, and they needed everyone to be ready. But when he looked at it from Brock’s standpoint as his boyfriend, Jack knew it was just Brock being the biggest dick imaginable at that point. It hadn’t been enough to drag him around the house in a dog collar that left dark, saturated bruises in its wake and made speaking a chore. It wasn’t enough to humiliate him by claiming that the bruising across Jack’s nose and beneath is eyes was from him coming into unfortunate contact with the shower rod the night before. And it wasn’t enough to make Jack come to work in a heavy jacket, zipped all the way up, in ninety degree weather to hide the bruises over his throat. Because nothing was ever enough and despite trying to stay out of Brock’s line of sight all day, Jack knew he’d always be Brock’s primary target.

“I need you to pick up training with Cap today.” Brock stated plainly while JAck shared a lunch that only one of them ate. 

Jack recoiled, looking up from the slowly cooling chicken pasta in front of him. He’d only gotten three bites in before he decided that it hurt too much to swallow. 

“Why?” Jack grumbled, his voice low and weak from both the abuse to his vocal cords as well as disuse. He hadn’t said a word to Brock all day, the anger in him once again rising, bashing against the cage of his resolve like a wild beast trying to break free. 

“‘Cause Pierce called me about havin’ another meeting this morning. I don’t got a choice here, Jackie, I already told the big guy you’d be there.” Brock explained as he scrolled through his emails at his computer. 

“Why not jus’ fuckn’ reschedule.” Jack grumbled under his breath, rising from his seat and throwing his lunch into the bin by Brock’s desk with more force than necessary. The combination of the action and his attitude had Brock looking up from his work, staring at Jack with an irritated look despite the upward turn of his lip. 

“What was that, mouth?” He asked and Jack hesitated for a second. He could challenge it, could try to put Brock in his place, but the lingering threat of the previous night’s events bred an unfamiliar fear in his chest and he pulled his gaze away. 

“Nothin’.” He mumbled, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets before making his escape. 

✩✩✩

Jack sat in the gym for twenty minutes waiting for Steve. 

And in that twenty minutes he contemplated what the hell had just happened. He’d never been afraid of Brock before. Upset? Yes. Wary? Of course. Angry? Abso-fucking-lutely, but  _ afraid? _ Never. And whatever was causing that fear to fester in his chest was making him sick. 

The doors to the gym opened and Jack broke from his thoughts, staring up to meet the bright, happy smile on Steve’s face that oh-so-awfully contrasted from his own bitter mood in a way that was borderline annoying. 

“Been a while,” Steve chuckled, offering his hand to help Jack get up from his place on the floor. He took it, pulling himself up and suppressing a hiss of pain as his body ached. That brief tumble down the stairs last night must’ve taken more out of him that he originally thought. 

As the two of them readied themselves; stretching, wrapping their hands, and ultimately building dread in Jack’s stomach, he couldn’t help but lose himself again. 

“Are you gonna wear that the whole time?” Steve piped up, pulling Jack back to reality for the third time in the past hour. 

“What?” He asked, forcing his shoulder to stretch despite the strain of his muscle. 

“That jacket.” Steve elaborated, gesturing at him to emphasize. 

Jack glanced down at it, somehow momentarily forgetting he had it on, before shrugging with a nod. 

“Yeah.” 

That was all he chose to say before the two of them stepped into the ring. There he stood: in a jacket, white basketball shorts, and black athletic ankle supports, staring at Steve who wore something similar, just with a tank top instead. 

The two of them sparred for a bit and from the very beginning, Jack knew it wasn’t going to end well for him. The soreness that blanketed him only seemed to get heavier the longer he tried to force his body to move. It slowed his reactions, made it impossible to keep up with the living god that was Steve Rogers. Jack didn’t think he could take goddamn  _ Captain America _ down even on a good day so trying to on a day where all of his muscles were simultaneously on fire definitely wasn’t going to work in his favor. 

And try as he might, one particularly well timed hit to his ribs had him on the floor. When he looked at the clock, he’d found that they’d been at it for a solid forty-five minutes and Jack was almost impressed with himself. That is until Steve fussed over him like a damn mother hen. 

“Shit, Rollins are you alright?” Steve asked, dropping to his knees to seemingly try and get a closer look at Jack who, in turn, waved him off as he spit his mouthguard out onto the floor. 

“M’ fine,” Jack wheezed unconvincingly as he pushed himself up with one arm, the other wrapped securely around his chest. Steve didn’t seem convinced, deciding to go for the jacket which had Jack pulling away reflexively. 

Steve paused, staring at him for a moment before he pulled the collar of the jacket down and all Jack could do was look up to avoid seeing the concerned look on Steve’s face. He let Steve unzip the jacket and pull it from his shoulders, getting a closer look. Even the gentle grazes of Steve’s fingers over the bruises on his neck had him flinching, less from actually feeling any pain and more from expecting it. What the hell had Brock done to him? And to think, for a few delusional hours, he thought he was lucky to have that man. 

“What happened to you?” Steve asked but Jack didn’t answer, responding by shrugging the jacket back over his shoulders and forcing himself to stand despite how much his body protested. “Did someone try to kill you?” 

For a single, cursory moment, Jack paused while his brain took time to do a hard reset. The suggestion felt so ridiculous that he wasn’t sure what else to do but play along with it. So he shrugged and watched as Steve shook his head in disbelief. 

“Did you file a report?” He asked and Jack released a bitter laugh. 

“What? Hell no.” He snorted. He knew that Steve’s mind was somewhere else entirely but he couldn’t help imagining what it would be like trying to file a report against Brock. He’d be killed, likely. Pierce already hated their relationship, said it was a “conflict of interest.” Jack thought it was asinine at first but now he was beginning to think Pierce, slimy bastard that he was, was right. 

“You need to, this is important!” Steve demanded. Jack wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to react and instead just shrugged it off with a quiet  _ ‘s’ fine.’ _ only to earn himself a frustrated sigh from Steve. 

“It’s not  _ fine, _ it’s dangerous! You know what we do, it’s...our line of work isn’t exactly a forgiving one.” Steve huffed.  _ ‘Tell me about it,’  _ Jack’s thoughts chimed as he shook his head, staring at Steve with a tired look. 

“I gotta get back to work. STRIKE team ships out in three days, be ready.” His voice was monotonous and bland as he turned to head back toward the locker rooms. That’s when Steve grabbed his arm and a rush of adrenaline tore through his body with the force of a fire hose as he turned to throw a punch that Steve quickly dodged, releasing him in the process. Jack didn’t know when he started trembling but now that he noticed, he couldn’t calm his nerves. The sad look that Steve gave him did nothing more than ignite an angry fire within him and suddenly, he was overwhelmed with the feeling that he wanted to fight again. 

“You don’t have to do this alone, I can help you.” Steve offered, taking a step forward and offering a gentle hand, only to have Jack grab hold of his wrist with an unnecessarily intense grip. 

“Ever stop to think I don’t need your fuckin’ help, Rogers?” Jack growled. “Ever stop to think I might just need your head outta’ my ass?” 

With a grimace, Jack shoved Steve back and turned without a second thought, zipping his jacket up as he retreated to lick at the wounds rubbed raw by Steve’s pity. 

✩✩✩

Going through a week long mission with Steve, while simultaneously trying to hide the bruises Brock gave him, had been absolute hell. So it was understandable that all Jack wanted to do when he got home was sleep. Unfortunately for him, all Brock wanted to do was fuck. 

“I’m serious, no.” Jack growled, pushing Brock’s hand from his hip only for that same imposing hand to latch right back on. 

“Oh, c’mon, Jackie, I need you inside me.” Brock purred, licking at Jack’s throat. By then, the bruises had become a sickly yellow and were faint enough for Jack to stop wearing hoodies and jackets to hide them. The rest of his body healed accordingly and things could go back to being relatively normal, something Jack wasn’t sure if he wanted. Because Brock made him hate normal. 

“I said I don’t want to.” Jack said more firmly this time, finally managing to shove Brock back on his haunches. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Jack held Brock’s glare before his commander finally scoffed and stood up from their bed with a huff. 

“You know, you seriously make me wanna fuckin’ hit you sometimes.” Brock growled as he left the room, undoubtedly planning to sleep on the couch. He always slept on the couch when he was sick of looking at Jack, when seeing Jack made him angry. He knew this, he knew Brock got mad when he said no, knew that Brock didn’t like it when he refused anything, especially sex, and knew that Brock wanted to hurt him because of it. But Brock had never actually  _ said _ it aloud before. And for whatever reason, actually hearing it was unsettling. 

He didn’t sleep well that night and when he woke up the next morning, he found that Brock had seemingly dropped the entire thing. He was bad about that, about ignoring any sort of argument they had, but Jack didn’t really have any other choice but to deal with it. 

Over time, Brock got worse. Just as he always had. After a while his threats stopped being threats and he stopped warning Jack all together. Sometimes Jack could anticipate it but most of the time, it felt entirely random. Brock would smack him in the back of his head, shove him around, punch him, even, if he was in a particularly bad mood. And Jack was at a loss. 

There was a war waged in Jack’s mind, his emotions tumbling between hating Brock and adoring him. Brock was a terrible man; he was violent and volatile and fear had become a familiar friend to Jack in the months that had passed since the choke chain incident. But every few days, he would be gentle and kind and he’d make Jack feel like nothing short of a god. And for those few, fleeting hours, Jack was on cloud nine. 

But the good times never seem to last and eventually he was sick of making up excuses to stay. 

“Come on, Jack, yer gonna leave over that? Over a love tap?” Brock growled as he followed Jack through their home. 

“Does it matter?” Jack grumbled, shoving some of his clothes into an old backpack. “I’m a grown man, I can leave if I want to.” 

This response, however, wasn’t good enough. Brock’s hand was almost instantly around his arm and Jack recoiled, throwing his elbow back and landing a hit across Brock’s mouth, effectively bloodying his lip. 

“Sonuva-” Brock barked, staggering back when Jack landed another hit on his face. Spitting a mixture of blood and spit out onto the dark carpet, Brock wiped a hand across his chin before glaring at Jack, who was frozen. Multiple thoughts raced through his mind in that moment and somehow he was both proud of and angry with himself. But both of those were overshadowed by the terror that crashed through him like a startling rush of electricity when Brock advanced on him. 

The two of them fumbled around for awhile, battering and bruising each other until eventually, Brock got his hands around the back of Jack’s head pulled, bringing his knee up to collide with Jack’s nose. 

A sickening crunch filled the air and the two of them paused as Jack covered his face, panting while he tried to gather himself. Sitting down on their bed, leaving a bloody handprint on their white comforter, Jack tried to sniff but he couldn’t. Blood dripped down his mouth the same way it had months prior when Brock had pulled him off of the couch and all he could do was wonder to himself why he was stupid enough to stay so long. 

“Let’s go.” Brock growled under his breath, taking hold of Jack’s bicep and forcing him to stand like he was a child. Jack shrugged him off, even going so far as to shove him away, before the two of them trudged out to their car. 

The ride to the hospital was silent and when they got there, Jack refused to explain how it happened. It wasn’t that he was trying to protect Brock, he was just so exhausted… He didn’t have the energy to make up excuses or answer any questions. 

Luckily, it only took fifteen minutes for a doctor to be made available for him. Unluckily, Brock followed him back into the room. And as if his broken nose wasn’t punishment enough, Brock continued to berate him. 

“You jus’ dunno when to quit do you?” Brock growled, his arms crossed over his chest. His lip was swollen, the gash that ran through it shining angry and red. Drops of blood stained the collar of his grey shirt and in that moment the two of them stared at each other with equally intense looks of pure hatred. 

“What?” Jack snapped, trying desperately to convince himself that Brock wasn’t worth a trip to prison. 

“You don’t know how to fuckin’ quit, Jack! You  _ always _ do this! You piss me off, then gimme that pissy little look when I get mad! This shit wouldn’t happen if you didn’t get me so fucking riled up!” Brock barked and all Jack could do was laugh incredulously, disbelief filling him as he stared Brock in the eye. 

“No, this shit wouldn’t happen if you weren’t such a  _ fucking psychopath. _ ” Jack hissed and just like that, Brock was on him again. First, there was a knee to his ribs, then a fist under his jaw, but Jack wasn’t going to lay down and let Brock beat on him anymore. He’d finally decided that everything Brock did to him was complete and utter  _ bullshit.  _ It wasn’t warranted and he wasn’t ungrateful when he got upset about it. And for the love of God, he didn’t  _ fucking deserve it. _

So he fought back. He kicked and he growled and he fought with everything he had. Landed a few good hits too. At some point, the doctor must’ve come in to the two of them fighting and called security. They pried Brock off of Jack, his eye swollen shut and his lip re-busted-open. Jack grimaced, wanting nothing more than to pounce on him while he was restrained. But the security guards were too quick to get him out of the room.

The doctor didn’t ask Jack any questions, simply got him cleaned up, reset his nose, and offered him a phone to call someone. Jack accepted the offer with a grateful, albeit quiet,  _ ‘thank you.’ _ And he sat for an hour contemplating whether or not he should do what he wanted to do. He didn’t really have much of a choice, though, did he?

_ “Hello?”  _ Answered Steve’s familiar voice over the other line. 

“If I ask you to come pick me up from the hospital will you promise not to ask questions?” Jack asked. He never was good at easing into a conversation. 

_ “The hospital? What happened? Are you hurt?”  _ Steve immediately started and all Jack could do was sigh and weigh what options he would have if he decided to hang up. 

“Steve, please.” He begged quietly. He wasn’t proud of the pleading tone in his voice but he couldn’t take it back. Couldn’t hide it. Not anymore.

Steve didn’t say anything for a long time. The quiet that fell over them was the kind that was deafening and suffocating at the same time and he wanted nothing more than to scream just to fill the space. But before he could, Steve started talking again. 

_ “I’ll be there.”  _ He said softly. 

And he was. In twenty minutes, Steve was at the hospital and the second he saw Jack, it looked like his entire world had been crushed. An odd look of knowing crossed his face as he flicked his head and without a second thought, Jack followed.

After another wordless car ride, Jack found himself in a new place. The unfamiliar space of Steve’s apartment left him feeling vulnerable and exposed, like a rabbit in a field of rabid dogs. But Steve’s gentle hand guided him and it sickened him that his mind was already waiting for that softness to be replaced with anger and pain. But nothing happened and Jack scolded himself for thinking something would. 

They sat on the couch with the same silence that had hovered over them on the phone weighing tension on their shoulders and Jack once again felt the urge to make noise so it wouldn’t feel so heavy on his chest. But just as before, Steve came to the rescue to fill the silence before Jack had to. 

“I guess this is how Bucky always felt when he saw me all beat up.” Steve tried to chuckle and Jack couldn’t help the little snort that left him. 

“Guess so.” Jack grunted in response, sighing as he refused to meet Steve’s eye. It was then that an arm slowly wrapped around him and with cautious curiosity, Jack let it happen, willing himself not to flinch. He half expected other advances to be made but nothing ever came, and he liked it that way. 

Steve turned the T.V. on and for a while, Jack zoned out while late night sitcoms flashed on screen with mediocre, cheesy jokes filling the quiet with a comfortable drone. And eventually, as Jack grew too tired to ignore the exhaustion any longer, he rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and found a relieving sense of peace when Steve leaned on him too. 

And for the first time since he’d met Brock fucking Rumlow, he felt safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr Plug](https://c-aribeau.tumblr.com/)  
Note: These prompts are unbeta-ed, I promise to fix the mistakes I find
> 
> I had a lot of conflict with this because I did not for the life of me know how I was going to work with the Steve/Jack request without going against how I see Jack as a character. It was a challenge but I had fun with it


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